


Death of A Hero, Death of A Coward

by Kyuubifan235



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Mythology
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:28:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22067035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyuubifan235/pseuds/Kyuubifan235
Summary: Wanted to try my hand at Greek mythology.
Kudos: 4





	Death of A Hero, Death of A Coward

Death of a Hero, Death of a Coward

“Let me sing muse of the final days of Achilles, the greatest warrior to walk the face of the earth. Let me tell of his death, and the passing of the coward who murdered him.” 

It was the closing months of the Trojan war, countless lives had been lost; Patroclus, the lover of Achilles, Hector, son of Priam, and Penthesila, amazonian queen. Troy had still not been taken, and very soon the thread of mortality for the greatest warrior Greece would ever see was to be cut.  
Saunder sat on the sand near the sea, the cool water lapping his feet as he surveyed the setting sun. This whole war was his test, and yet he had seen countless mortals die. He served as a one of Achilles Myrmidons, Achilles was his general. His history with the great warrior stretched back to their training by Chiron, after a time of marriage with Apollo, Hera had ordered that young Saunder be sent to the centaur’s camp. There they both butted heads, in truth Saunder had grown jealous to many natural talents that Achilles possesed, even how a mortal could be loved so easily by his fellow warriors. In time, their relationship mended, both Saunder and Achilles, with Patroclus became fire forged friends.  
“Looking out at the ocean again?” Achilles spoke, bringing Saunder out from his thoughts.  
“Yes, one of the only quiet times of the day where I can think,” Saunder muttered. “How many years has it been, general? Since we set out from home?” Achilles shuffled to Saunder’s side and sat down beside him.  
“Too many to count,” Achilles sighed, ever since Patroclus’s death, he had been cold, mowing down people as if it was routine to him. Saunder simply felt the sand under his fingers, cold and mushy from the water. Then it hit him, the full weight of what he was, the waves were like the flow of time and the sand the lives of men; with each passing wave they were swept away while he..he would stay alive.  
“It’s not fair,” Saunder muttered as he reached for the sand in big clumps. “You, Patroclus, all these fair Argives will pass, and I stay.” Achilles cast a glance and shook his head.  
“No use thinking on that, it was decreed by the sisters when we were born.” Achilles muttered. “My fate is set, yours is too.” Achilles put a hand on Saunder’s shoulder. While Saunder bit his lip, trying to think of ways to prevent his friend, his brother-in arms, from dying. “Don’t think on it” Achilles simply replied, he had known this look from Saunder for a while. “You would do a disservice to me if you tried anything.”  
“Let me spirit you away, general. You’ve become like a brother to me, let me shield you from this dark fate and watch over you!” Saunder began.  
“Enough! If you see me like your brother, then respect my wishes. What would Patroclus think of you doing such a cowardly act?” Achilles hissed. “Don’t think of such shameful thoughts, little brother,” Patroclus and Achilles always jokingly called Saunder “little brother” perhaps a pass at his bloodline but he grew used to the term as they were brothers to him. Saunder fell silent.  
“He was your only world? Wasn’t he?” Saunder finally asked. Achilles only gave a nod.  
“Did you ever love a mortal?” Achilles asked.  
“I did,” Saunder muttered.  
“Died?” Achilles cast a gaze over at his Myrmidon.  
“Yes,” Saunder stated frankly, gazing at the sun.  
“How?” Achilles asked.  
“My lover ... flew too close to the sun,” Saunder spoke, trying to blot out that memory. Of wax and feathers, the winged boy who swept his heart into a frenzy, laid low after flying close to the fiery star. Both remained silent, soon Achilles stood up.  
“We are to attack the gates again, with Hector gone there should be no trouble. Ready your armor, you will ride in my chariot.” He commanded.  
“Yes general,” Saunder spoke, the sadness gone for a moment, he was now a simply Myrmidon from Sparta again, doing what his leader asked. 

So they rode in mighty Achilles chariot to great Illium, leading another attack to bring Troy to her knees. Saunder was no Patroclus but he could hold onto the reins of the horses, whipping them with the strength of his father, war loving Ares, and shouting out commands to them. The soldiers on the ground met them, Achilles launched his spear and battered at the Trojans below. Arrows and spears whizzed past them, missing the mark, while Saunder did his best to race them through the many men below. Achilles lept from the bronze chariot and began to slaughter the men below, while Saunder led the horses away. Then he felt it, all the hairs on his body rising, he sensed another Olympian, one whose scent he knew all too well. He saw a golden glint next to the son of Priam, Paris, it was Saunder’s husband Phoebus Apollo. As Achilles hacked away, Apollo helped Paris ready his bow and arrow, time seemed to slow down as Saunder lept from the chariot, calling out his general’s name to no avail. The fatal arrow was loosed from Paris’s shaft, coated in a deadly poison. Too late, the son of Ares arrived, the arrow hit it’s mark and hit the heel of Achilles, the only place the river Styx never touched. Achilles let out a cry as he fell to his knees, Apollo guided another arrow straight into Achilles’s chest. Saunder let out a cry of anguish as he came next to his general, the man he trained with and served under, a god subservient to a mortal.  
“FALSE HUSBAND!” Saunder shrieked, his red hair ablaze, grabbing his spear, uttering a prayer to his grandmother and his mother, to any diety that would listen, chucking it not for the cowardly Paris but for Apollo. The spear struck his husband through the heart while Saunder turned to face Achilles. “My general!” He cried out, as death came closer to great Achilles.  
“Tell the Olympians, and the world, you fought with brave Achilles,” The swift runner gasped. The battle vanished from his mind and the son of Ares picked up Achilles, greater in girth than he as if he were but a kitten. Saunder threw him across his back and raced towards Achilles’s chariot, arrows and spears missing them all the way; the only thought in Saunder’s mind was to return to the great ships and get medience. Saunder sat the swift runner down when they reached Achilles’ chariot and cracked the whip with all his might till the cries of battle where but a distant call on the wind. Achilles meanwhile was fading more and more, Saunder tried his best to console his general.  
“We’re almost there General! Hold fast” Saunder cried, not knowing the thread of Achilles’s life was close to being cut. Saunder steered the chairot at breakneck speed back to the Greek ships.  
“Patroclus, I come for you,” Achilles called out. “My love,” He gasped. Men raced to haul the great warrior from the chariot while Saunder leaned against the chariot, stunned at what transpired.  
When he heard the news that great Achilles was dead, Saunder bolted into the tent where Achilles’s body lay.  
“No!” he cried out. “No! Great general, return to us! The war is not yet done, Troy is not yet fallen! Come back!” Saunder wailed, tearing at his hair all the while.  
“Peace,” The great Diomedes whispered to him. “Let his spirit go, trouble it no further,” Saunder was led out to wander the beach alone, wailing all the while. He coated his face with ash, letting out cries of anguish. He could not be consoled, the death of the man he grew to love as brother shook him too deeply.  
Saunder never came to the funeral games, he instead sat inside the tent where Achilles’s body was held, the gods preserved it till it was time for it to be burned and the swift runner’s ashes to be mingled with his lover’s. The day came and Saunder blocked the entrance.  
“Anyone of you who dares so much as move this man’s body will suffer a fate far worse then the gods design!” Saunder spat, wild with grief.  
“Move aside, boy” Agamemnon commanded. “Do not disgrace your commander’s memory in the is way. Move or you will be moved,”  
“Touch me, son of Atreus and you will discover that I can cause ill tidings the like you have never seen.” Saunder threatened. Who was the one to drag him away? Not any of the great warriors, but instead Thetis, mother of Achilles. She grabbed him roughly, backhanding him across the face.  
“Enough! Do you mean to cause more pain then there already is?” She shrieked, the goddess's hair was torn and her eyes red from endless mourning. “My son is dead, do not try to stand against fate. You will be overwhelmed by a flood the likes of which you cannot comprehend.” She wailed at him. “Good kings and generals of the Argives, take the body, I shall deal with this one,” So the great men of Greece carried Achilles’s body while Thetis held tight to Saunder, not letting him out of her grip for one minute.  
The funeral pyre was lit and the body of great Achilles burned, all the while everyone mourned from the highest king to the lowest slave. Saunder and Thetis wailed loudly, both crying to see the one they cared for taking the first step of the final journey. As the flames licked the sky, Saunder’s heart began to harden, the fire in him matching the one before him. His face became fixed in a scowl all the while his red eyes leaked tears.  
“Mother of the man whom I called brother. I promise you this; I swear on the river Styx that the coward who shot that deadly arrow will suffer dearly. I will make his last moments pure agony to which Tartarus would seem like the Elysian fields.” Saunder swore. “I swear before all the stars in the firmament, the river styx, and Tartarus, that my heart will harden till that mewling bitch of a boy that Priam sired is dead.” With that deadly oath sworn, Saunder left.  
The child of Ares entered a small shrine to Athena, where a statue of the goddess stood.  
“WHY!?!” he snarled. “HARD HEARTED LADY! You rob him of the glory of burning Troy!” Saunder bellowed through the temple. The statues eyes opened and soon the voice of Pallas Athena echoed through the room.  
“Mind your tongue grandchild of Nyx. His fate was sealed the moment he was born,” Athena spoke. Saunder paced the floor angrily, letting out beasital grunts. “Do not think that I don’t mourn for Achilles,” She continued. “It was the will of the fates, their will is immovable. His thread was cut and now Achilles lies with Patroclus in the underworld. It is sad to lose a mortal that you cherish so dear,” Athena’s voice suddenly spoke from behind Saunder, there she was the goddess herself. She put her hand on Saunder’s shoulder. “It is never easy for any of us. We are immortal and undying, mortals are like blades of wheat their time is always cut short.” He could detect sadness in her voice. “Cool your wrath, it is like your fathers. Think instead to honor Achilles and Patroclus’s memory by bringing Troy to its knees.” Saunder’s heavy grunts began to return to normal breaths. “I also give you a warning, do not return to Troy until it is time for the final assault, otherwise the consequences will be dire.” With that she vanished and Saunder was left alone.  
Saunder was left with polishing weapons, cooking meals, and doing any busy work he was assigned. He knew that Athena had past the command for him to remain in the camp to another of the great heroes, alone in his own tent Saunder felt himself changing in appearance, his skin turned a sickly gray, his eyes became red and his orange hair began to sour till it was jet black. All the while his mind was plotting revenge, trying to think of ways to torment Paris in the worst of ways.  
The day came when he heard that Philoctetes had wounded Paris, the fire in him was renewed. He knew Paris was ailing but he wasn’t supposed to enter Troy, then he remembered he had swore an oath to Thetis on the river styx. Saunder decided he would take the consequences, whatever they would be. Saunder remembered that Achilles had begged his mother to help pay back proud Agamemnon’s insult to him, so to his own mother Saunder decided to go.  
Down to the darkest depths of the underworld Saunder went, searching for his mother; the goddess of discord, Eris. He stopped in front of two giant stone doors that opened to reveal a realm of complete dark, in he stepped and heard them shut behind him.  
“A son comes to visit?” A voice cooed from the darkness. “My youngest! From war loving Ares.”  
“I have come to ask for you aid, mother.” Saunder called out. Around him lampades, the nymphs of the underworld, appeared, taking off his armor, putting him in casual clothes before banquet table appeared. On it was ambrosia and fresh nectar, at the head of the table was his mother.  
“Come, dine with me.” She commanded, to which Saunder obeyed, sitting next to the daughter of night. “My you have grown, Chiron has trained you well,”Eris smiled before motioning him to eat. “You must be starving, coming all this way from Troy.” She began to sip some nectar. Saunder was thrown off that she knew he was coming. “Oh don’t think I haven’t been watching you. I watch over all my children”She snickered. “I know why you’ve come too, you’ve come to ask for aid.” Eris sat down her drink while drumming her fingres on the table.  
“If you are so enraged, why not ask your grandmother? She hates Troy with a burning passion,” Eris tutted.  
“You claim to watch me so mother, then you know that I remembered how Achilles begged his mother for aid to bring proud Agamemnon to come begging,” Saunder began.  
“See where that got him,” She interjected. “His lover was killed in response and he is now dead.” Saunder balled his fists up angrily but tried not to say anything. “Oh I mean no insult. He treated you like a brother, and since he treated a child of mine so well I am inclined to help,” Eris smiled. “But there's another reason you came,” She chuckled. “You know it, deep down in your heart,” Saunder lowered his head, when he knew that she saw into his soul. “You knew that even though great Thetis was his mother, the great nymph to whom Zeus was attracted; you knew your mother was greater. Your mother was a daughter of Nyx, a child of chaos” with that Eris let out a laugh that echoed through the very realm they stayed. Saunder felt his mother beside him now. “You are more than a child of war,” Eris cooed. “When brute strength, war cries and spears don’t get the job done, well...” She held her hand up and above them several strands of what seemed to gold alighted. “Cleverness and guile can help win the day.” She waved her hand and one of the gold strands lowered before him. Eris guided her son’s hand to it, then he saw the future. Saunder saw Helen, begging Paris’s first wife Oenone to heal Paris’s wounds. He saw the nymph reject Helen and the vision left him.  
“This does not help me mother,” Saunder sighed. Eris frowned and then spoke to him.  
“Feel again,” she commanded and Saunder touched the cord again, he felt remorse in Oenone’s heart. “Paris is destined to die but that doesn't mean you can’t add a few frays to his mortal coil,” Eris explained. She saw her son’s mind began to plot. “Good,” she whispered. “Let me give you a gift,” A jar appeared filled with a black liquid. Saunder recognized it at an instant.  
“That coated the arrow that murdered Achilles,” Saunder hissed. All at once a plan came into his mind, he took the jar in his hand and kissed his mother. “I thank you mother, and I shall promise to bring offerings to show my gratitude,” Saunder bowed. Eris wrapped her arms around her child.  
“I do love you my child,” She spoke. “Though I was never around, I always have loved you,” Eris gave her child a tender hug before letting him go.  
Saunder appear in front of Oenone’s cove, disguised as lovely Aphrodite, he used his gift of chaos to blind her from seeing into the future. In he stepped as the goddess of love.  
“Dear nymph,” he cooed, mimicking the goddess’s voice. “I come to beg for your aid in helping my champion; Paris,”  
“Dear goddess, then use your own powers. I care nothing for the man who spurned me and killed our son. Let him die in agony like the coward he is, for trusting you,”She spat.  
“Oh, but I see that you still love him. Deep down you feel a twinge of pity for him,” Saunder came closer. “If you give me the means to help restore his vitality, I promise that I will break the love sickness he holds for Helen and return him to you.” Saunder lied, Oenone faltered and held out a pestle filled with a liquid that would heal Paris’s wounds.  
When he had both in hand, Saunder exited her cove, mixing both healing liquid and poison together before going into the royal palace of Troy in the guise of the goddess. He was surprised to see Cassandra barring the entrance from him.  
“Dear child, I come to relieve your brother of his pain,” Saunder spoke keeping his guise.  
“I know who you really are. Though you claim friendship you bring death instead,” Cassandra spoke. Saunder froze at that moment, for her eyes saw his true self. “I beg you to turn back,” Cassandra came closer to him. “Child of war and strife, purge these thoughts of vengeance from your mind, it will bring neither this house or you any satisfaction,” Saunder stood as stiff as a statue, this he did not expect. Soon the daughter of Priam wrapped her arms around his legs, holding them tightly. “Please, you have answered my request of vegnance before. You blotted Apollo’s prophecy from him, made him a laughingstock of Olympus. You’ve damaged his lyre when he and his sister killed Niobe’s children. You ruined Dionysus’s vineyard when he punished Cadmus, and wove Artemis into a doe’s skin to punish her for going too far in her retribution against Acteon, I beg as your supplicant, Saunder. Myrmidon to Achilles, son of Eris and Ares, Nemesis to the gods when they go too far in their anger. Please...for both my brother’s and your sake, abandon this dark plot. Return to the ships and wait till this city falls. I will slaughter heifers and oxen to you, pour wine so that your anger might be sated,” Whille the priestess of Athena begged, Saunder felt his heart began to feel pity again. Never had he been offered something like this, still not considered one of the Olympians he was to be contented with minor offerings. Saunder felt his grip tighten on his deadly toxin and heard it begin to crack.  
“Cassandra!” Hecuba called. “You dare stop the goddess who favors your brother?” Hecuba wrenched the prophetess from Saunder’s body. “Forgive her, lady Aphrodite. She is forgone with grief over the death of her many brothers’.” Hecuba bowed. When they left Saunder’s heart hardened once more. In he paced into Paris’s room, where he saw the coward lay, breathing hard.  
“My champion,” Saunder spoke in Aphordite’s voice. “I’ve come to heal your pain,” he laid by Paris’s side and began to rub the deadly mixture over the prince's wounds.  
“Goddess, you have been too kind to me.” Paris wheezed out. Saunder smiled in return.  
“Do you want me to show you how you will be remembered in the future?” Saunder asked. Paris nodded gently as Saunder gently helped the prince up, putting his hands on the prince’s shoulders. Before them a vision appeared of Menelaus and Helen, engaged in passionate lust over the grave of Paris. Priam’s son began to quake and groan as the poison set in, Saunder’s disguise faded away as he watched the coward Paris gurgle blood, crying out in horror as the shades of Menelaus and Helen laughed at him in their lust before Helen gave the Spartan a passionate kiss. Saunder heard the family of Paris come towards his room and hid in the shadows, so no mortal could see him.  
“Now,” he hissed. “Die a death fit for a coward, know that what was given to was nothing but tawdry lust. Expire a coward, who name everyone shall spit on. My brother, my general, Achilles, you are revenged.” Saunder laughed. Paris’s skin hissed as it burned from the poison till at last he lay on his bed, gazing at Helen; who in reality had been sitting at her loom all the while.  
“It wasn’t real...was it?” Paris asked Helen. “It wasn’t real, my love for you,” he repeated once more before the darkness came for him. 

Saunder shot out from the house of Priam back to the royal Argive ships where he began to attend to his duties at a happier pace. He couldn’t help but smile when he heard everyone pass the news of the prince's death.  
“Son of Ares, return to Olympus. The gods are convening,” A voice whispered to him, Iris messenger of Zeus commanded, to which Saunder obeyed.  
“Heartless tart!” Oenone cried out at Aphrodite. “You broke your word! You killed him, you promise to bring him back to me then kill him. The one one who chose you out, gave you the golden apple, the start of all this grief!” She railed. Aphrodite covered her ears.  
“Enough!” she cried. “I’ve done no such thing,” the goddess spoke. “I’ve loved Paris as my champion and would never do such a heinous deed,” Saunder was lead to his grandmother’s side.  
“What’s going on?” Saunder asked.  
“Apparently, Aphrodite has poisoned Paris.” Hera muttered. “An odd change of heart. The people of Troy cry out in anguish against the Goddess.” Hera paused before gazing at Saunder’s hand which scarred from the poison. “What happened?” She asked.  
“Burnt them at the forge,” Saunder whispered.  
“I thought we raised you to be better then be clumsy in the forge,” Hera shook her head.  
“Enough of your wailing!” Apollo cried out. “Aphrodite would not do such a thing,” He had a mark over his chest where Saunder’s spear had pierced them.  
“Apollo is correct!” Athena called out, having just entered the council. “A priestess of mine cried out in a prayer that another god took Aphordite’s shape and poisoned Paris.” Saunder felt himself stiffen a bit when she spoke those words.  
“Was it you?” Apollo asked.  
“Of course not, it’s insulting that you would even think I resort to something so low.” Athena shot back. “Saunder, why don’t you lead this nymph to Hera’s garden. Perhaps we can figure out this mystery once she has calmed herself.” Saunder stood for a moment.  
“Go on, do as she says,” Hera commanded. With that Saunder walked down to Oenone and held out his hands, she reached to take them before pausing, gazing at Saunder’s face, then his hands.  
“Oh no,” she softly whispered. “Oh no,” She repeated softly. “Oh by Olympus.  
“What don’t you share what you’ve done...Saunder,” Athena spoke. Saunder felt the entire eyes of the Olympian’s on him but then focused on Apollo and Aphrodite. Saunder remained quiet and fixed both of them with an evil leer.  
“SPEAK BOY!” Zeus thundered.  
“It wasn’t Aphrodite that you gave that mix to. It was me,” Saunder stated simply, watching Apollo’s shock fade to unbridled rage. “To which I mixed with the very poison my husband used on Achilles. I made sure he died the coward’s death he deserved and avenged my beloved brother in arms, Achilles.” Saunder confessed, sneering at Apollo who quaked with rage. Oenone grabbed her hair and let out screams of anguish, racing to the mortal world below.  
“Oh you foul offspring of war and chaos,” Apollo growled. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?” He tackled his husband and began to throttle Saunder.  
“Payed you back in full! Cowardly, whelp of a husband,” Saunder spat trying to grab Apollos hair. Artemis pulled Apollo off Saunder while Ares held fast to his son.  
“Oh, false child of war! You know not who you meddle!” Apollo snarled.  
“I do, I’ve known him from shaft to tip and he’s not as aggressive as he seems,” Saunder hissed.  
“Oh, any mortal who tries to utter a prayer to you I will silence!” Apollo threatened. “I will make sure that you remain in doors and that none shall know you exist!”  
“I will find everyone of your lovers, both male and female. I shall make them pine for Tartarus after what I’ll do to them. I’ll find every single bastard you fathered and tear their beating hearts out. I’ll cloud that Oracle of yours and make her mutter such idiocies that you will be seen not as a god prophecy but as a god of jesters!” Saunder snarled.  
“Peace,” Zeus thundered.  
“I gave you strict orders not to return to Troy and what have you done but disobeyed! Like always!” Athena cried out. “You are too headstrong!” Hermes appeared in Olympus.  
“Oenone is dead,” He muttered. All fell silent.  
“How?” Athena asked.  
“Learning of Paris’s death she threw herself onto his pier and burned along with his corpse.” Hermes explained.  
“Like one of your silly songs,” Saunder muttered.  
“ENOUGH!” Zeus thundered. “You have caused a great deal of trouble for this war, more than needed. Your stubbornness to fight fate has caused more than its fair share of problems, I have a right mind to strike you with my own bolts that you may learn of what becomes of those who disobey the gods. If that doesn't serve as a lesson to you, I shall..”  
“Not touch a single hair on his head,” A voice called out, Eris walked into the council chamber. She moved Ares out of the way and wrapped her arms around her child. While Ares put a hand on his son’s shoulder  
“Stand out of the way, or else I may strike the lot of you. Ares, you were a fool to bed her, and YOU” he snarled at Eris. “Are foolish enough to come here to shield your child from my wrath.” Eris remained unperturbed.  
“Do not forget who his grandmother is.” She narrowed her eyes at Zeus. “If you strike a child and grandchild of Nyx, you will have more then just a petty mortal war on your hands. Think carefully son of Cronus, just as I watch my children, so to does my mother watch hers.” Eris warned, for once Saunder saw something that he never thought he would see, the mighty Zeus flinched and his wrath seemed to give way to fear for a quick moment before he let out a huff.  
“Very well, he shall stay with Hera, but if he sets foot on Trojan soil again, the consequences will be dire.” Zeus turned away, Saunder felt his mother clip a brooch to his armor.  
“Listen to your grandfather,” Eris commanded and ushered Saunder back to his room.  
There Saunder sat and would wait till Troy would fall.  
“Now muse let me finish, as great Troy is dust and Olympus is no more.”


End file.
